ralphanagi-no-okami

[ralphanagi-no-okami]

I’m gonna teach you to fix your dang pants

Alright are you DUMMY THICC with POWERFUL THIGHS that keep DESTROYING YOUR JEANS?  Are you super fucking broke and can’t afford new clothes?  Would you rather not contribute to disposable fashion, one of the MOST UNETHICAL industries of the modern age, on which I have many thoughts?  I’m here to show you how to keep your pants on unnatural life support until they literally disintegrate off your legs.

You’ll need some basic sewing skills and supplies.  If you don’t have a sewing machine, jump to the end, I’ll add an epilogue just for you.

Step one: look at this disgrace.  How did this even happen.  What was I doing.

Now you don’t need to do this next bit, especially if it’s a less extensive repair, but I’m going to show you how to make a nice pattern for this, if you like nice patterns.

Turn one leg inside out and put it into the other, so you can see the tear.

Put a piece of paper on the area and trace around the hole - it’ll take some guesswork, but you can figure it out.  You want it big enough to cover the hole, and extending far enough from it that you aren’t just sewing into places where the fabric is worn super thing.  I like to stop at the crotch and inner leg seams, both because the pants are shaped there so it’s hard to get a patch to span it without something puckering, and because it’s a good sturdy anchor to sew to.  Mine looks like this.  Yours will…probably be smaller.

Now cut that shape out of some fabric.  I cut two, because I have similarly shaped holes on both sides.  You do NOT need to add seam allowance.  For the fabric, I recommend cotton twill or canvas (not treated canvas, you don’t want anything plasticky on your crotch).  Twill is what most casual pants are made of (denim is a kind of twill).  Canvas is the same but heavier.  You’ll want something that roughly matches the color of your pants, obviously.  I did not have this.  I decided I do not care.  My pants will look DUMB but I am a GOBLIN.

I serged the edges of mine (because I’m the kind of goblin with a SERGER but not TAN FABRIC?? apparently) but that’s not necessary.  Turn your pants inside out and pin the patch in (one at a time, if you’re doing multiple).  Make sure the patch lies completely flat against the pants fabric, and isn’t bunching or bubbling.

Now shove it under the sewing machine and stitch around the edge.  I recommend sewing right on top of the existing seams where you can, since the pants are sturdy there.  The tricky thing is not accidentally catching other parts of the pants while you’re sewing around the patch, but you can do it, I believe in you.  If you mess up, just seam rip that bit and try again.

Once the patch(es) are in, turn them right side out.  The holes are covered, but there’s a bunch of loose, ragged fabric flapping around that’s just going to keep getting shredded.

So take it back to the sewing machine, and just…sew everywhere.  Start at the edge and make a big spiral to the center.  Or make a bunch of parallel lines.  Or start wherever you want and just go wild.  But fill the patch with stitching everywhere there are two layers of fabric.

This not only keeps the layers together but REINFORCES them, so your sad pants will be STRONGER THAN EVER.  It’ll look like this, and you’ll be like “ew, everybody’s going to see my butt stitching.”

But they won’t.  Trust me.  They won’t.  Because it’s all up in your butt crack, and if they’re looking close enough you’re legally allowed to kick them.  Even with my dumbass fabric choices, you can’t see it at all from the front (enjoy weird blurry shot of my crotch).

And you can barely see it from the back.

AND NOW YOU CAN WEAR YOU FAVORITE PANTS, AND NEVER BUY NEW CLOTHES EVER AGAIN.  I think I’ve done this to EVERY pair of pants I wear on a regular basis.  Some MULTIPLE TIMES.

My note for people without a sewing machine:  you can do this by hand, it’ll just take longer.  Use sturdy thread and sew with a prick stitch (or pick stitch, depending on who you ask).  That means that when the thread is on the outside of the fabric, make the stitches absolutely tiny.  That leaves less surface area to be abraided by the aforementioned slapping of your thighs.  It also looks nicer - so I would do that if you’re fixing some really nice dress pants whether you’ve got a sewing machine or not.  This is what a prick stitch looks like on the outside.

If you’re doing it by hand, and if you want extra reinforcement, I’d also recommend getting some Heat ‘n Bond (or Wonder Under, etc, there are a few different brands, any permanent iron-on adhesive will work) and affixing the patches with that first.  I only didn’t do that because I don’t have any.  I would not recommend putting the patches in ONLY with iron-on adhesive, even though the manufacturers say it will work.  It’s not strong enough for your powerful thighs.

Now go.  Stop buying pants.  End the disposable fashion machine.  The revolution starts with your ass.

[ralphanagi-no-okami]

I literally cant fucking breathe 

[ralphanagi-no-okami]

[ralphanagi-no-okami]

[ralphanagi-no-okami]

[ralphanagi-no-okami]

To my uk trans people and allies out there.

[ralphanagi-no-okami]

[ralphanagi-no-okami]

I didn't expect that Kier Starmer's having fewer strong principles than a weathervane would result in him supporting actual outright transphobia seemingly "just because" but here we are. I really shouldn't be surprised at how morally bankrupt he is

"The ruling provides clarity" it really doesn't. The only clarity it provides is that the Supreme Court of this country will kowtow to hateful morons at the drop of a hat

[ralphanagi-no-okami]

My three girlfriends. And yes, they smoke weed.

[ralphanagi-no-okami]

One of the things that convinced me of this is that they say that "women" means "biological women" and "sex" means "biological sex" without defining what they mean by "biological" besides "everyone knows what biological means" which they manifestly do not

important to state for the record that the British Supreme Court are idiots

they sound very scary when you describe them as The Supreme Court but remember, these are five dusty old cishets, one of whom is a weirdo who used to write homophobic documents for the Church of Scotland. I've seen so much commentary, even from pro-trans british journalists, about how the ruling is "forensic" and "balanced" and "rational" - no it isn't, it's clearly the work of people who don't know what they're talking about. You know how I know? They accidentally defined all bi women as lesbians. They said that the legal test for a lesbian is being an AFAB person attracted to another AFAB person, and at no point did anyone go, "Hang on a second, what about bi people?" Congratulations to terfs I guess, you were so excited to get rid of the T you got rid of the B!

This ruling is exactly what you'd expect from locking five old straight people in a room and asking them to set rules for queer life without speaking to any queer people. Their judgement is silly legal word games and it has no relation to real people's actual lives - if you wanna use lawyerspeak they've "undermined public confidence in the legal system." It's not even "the emperor has no clothes," it's "the emperor is naked and covered in shit."

i can kinda understand that politicians need to make a show of respect in their tone, like okay, probably a good thing that politicians don't get into the habit of publicly undermining judges. But any journalist who treats this ruling as remotely sensible is daft - only a straight person could make that kind of mistake

These judges are idiots - I use the word in the classical greek sense of someone who is not connected to and does not understand the life of the public, of the people. Their judgement is laughable and we don't have to respect them

[ralphanagi-no-okami]

day 1 at the communal puzzle club: i see a puzzle with a sign next to it that says "please help with our communal puzzle" and i say to myself "don't mind if I do" and did the whole thing

[ralphanagi-no-okami]

obsessed with this poem a 3rd grader wrote from joseph fasano's prompts

Poem to Myself

no one knows the Wolf / that thrives in me. No one/ knows my heart is a burning / fire I carry through the street / toward the moon. No one knows / the Wolf I softly came. But I / do. I do. I will wake today / and run my life. I will walk / today and declare my freedom. / i will walk until I find the / perfect thing. Wolf thrives, thrives, / thrives.

[ralphanagi-no-okami]

When I was 3 years old I went to a preschool that had this little green crocheted crocodile finger puppet that was my absolute favorite toy to play with of all time. I named her Chelsea, because Chelsea starts with C and crocodile starts with C and more often than not wild animals in fiction aimed at kids have names that start with the same first letter as their species. I played with Chelsea every day, because she was my favorite toy, and because the other kids weren't really interested in her, and also because I eventually started to hide her in a special secret spot in the room so no one else would find her before I did. She was so beloved by me that when I graduated from preschool, my teachers gave Chelsea to me permanently, because it was clear no one else would ever love that little crochet crocodile as much as me anyway (in part because I hid her). They waited a few weeks after I graduated before doing it, too, and sent Chelsea with some post cards as if the crocodile had been on a whirlwind "travel the world" vacation before deciding to come live with me.

And Chelsea remained my favorite toy all through my childhood. There were others I loved nearly as much, like my Imperial Godzilla and the big red T.rex from the first Jurassic Park toy line and my tiny knockoff plush Charmander, but Chelsea always held the place of honor in my heart. She was my absolute favorite toy.

I kept a lot of my favorite toys through adolescence, even if social pressure eventually got me to give away a lot of them (and some, y'know, broke). That's obviously not surprising to you if you've followed my blog, since I still collect toys into my adulthood. But it's important to note because while I know I made a conscious effort to never throw out Chelsea every time I pared down my collection... at some point, she went missing.

I became aware of it when I graduated from high school. I was feeling really emotional about leaving that stage of my life and, y'know, becoming an adult and shit, and in that state I decided to find Chelsea to reassure myself that I hadn't entirely left childhood behind. But Chelsea wasn't there. No matter how hard I looked, I could not find Chelsea anyway.

And that was, like, devastating, because the only explanation was that somehow, at some point, I had accidentally tossed her out with some other "childhood junk" while trying to grow up and be responsible in my teen years. I had literally thrown away my childhood in a careless attempt to be more grown up.

Of course I knew she was just a toy - nothing more than some yarn twisted together in the loose shape of a crocodile, lifeless and soul-less and more or less worthless in the objective light of day. But she was also Chelsea, my best friend since i was three, my stalwart little pal, a source of comfort for most of my life at that point, and I had just... tossed her out! Like garbage! What kind of person was I becoming if I could do that to my best friend?

I was very visibly distraught, and my mom noticed. Being very crafty, she tried to find the pattern for Chelsea so she could knit me a new one. The problem is, she had no idea where to find said pattern. She checked all her books of crochet patterns, and when that failed she tried the internet, but no matter how hard she looked, she found nothing.

So my mom found the next best thing.

The original Chelsea was a tiny finger puppet, and I had "met" her when I was three. Well, I was eighteen now - shouldn't Chelsea have grown too? And as has been established, this crocodile was fond of whirlwind vacations. My mom found a pattern that looked as much like Chelsea as possible while also being a much bigger crocodile, and gifted her to me before I left for college - to show that while we can't stop the flow of time or how it changes us, that doesn't mean we have to leave it behind.

And yeah, I decided to believe it. That's Chelsea now. Yeah, I know that in reality it's a completely different set of yarn made by my mom rather than... whoever it was that crocheted the original Chelsea, but then, Chelsea was never really the yarn. She was the feelings I put into the yarn, you know? So that's Chelsea, all grown up, and still my most prized toy.

...

Flash forward... Jesus, eighteen years, holy shit. A few weeks ago I saw a post trying to identify a different crochet crocodile pattern, and thinking it was cute, I decided to try and look for it on ebay and etsy, just to see if maybe I could find it. I didn't, but do you know what I found instead?

A very familiar crochet crocodile finger puppet. An intensely familiar one, you might say. Of course I bought it. And of course I asked the seller if, perhaps, they might have the pattern for it or know where it came from (they did not, alas). And after a few days, she showed up at my house.

She's not Chelsea, obviously. For one thing, she's far too clean and fresh looking - Chelsea was very well loved, and looked the part, while this crocodile finger puppet has definitely not endured years upon years of a child's affection. And, more importantly, she's not Chelsea because we've already established that Chelsea grew up into a bigger crochet crocodile. This has to be Chelsea's younger sister, Cici.

And if I could find another of Chelsea's kind after all these years, then maybe, with a bit of luck, I might find the pattern for her, and be able to make more of them. Fill the world with Chelseas.

[ralphanagi-no-okami]

Yeah Mr. Darcy’s proposal was a complete turd and a half but you gotta understand. You got your life together. A good career, stable income, retirement plan, all that shit together. And you meet this girl. And she’s everything. Clever, outspoken, funny, calls you on your bullshit. Grade A cutie, right? And she doesn’t go out of her way to spend time with you but she’s nice, and sometimes you catch her looking your way in a way that makes you think you might have a shot.

But her family. Holy shit.

First off, it’s p much ALL women, and mostly UNMARRIED women, which at this time means of something happens to her dad then you’re financially responsible for like. Four grown ass adults, potentially forever

Because mom in law is DEFINITELY gonna need someone to take care of her when dad in law kicks it, and they have like. NO money. So already you’re accepting that if all goes well, you’re gonna be one random old bag’s retirement home. That’s expensive and exhausting, yeah? Imagine asking someone on a first date knowing that if they say yes and things go good her high-strung chihuahua mother is gonna move in with you. IMAGINE.

And girly’s other sisters. Well, one is a sweetheart, yeah, so she probably won’t be an issue, but that still leaves three more, and two of those ones are INSUFFERABLE. Never went to school, dumb as rocks, spend cash like it’s toilet paper

And while one of the two is young still and might grow out of it the OTHER one is actively torpedo’ing her entire family’s reputation by wandering off with random dudes and chasing ass. She’s never gonna work, she can’t build connections, she’s a fucking sinkhole, and she’s being led on by the same goddamn con man ass leeching tit who’s been bleeding you dry while telling anyone who’ll listen that your family is full of ratty thieving bastards.

And if he dumps her after a week- WHICH YOU KNOW HIS BITCH ASS IS GONNA- you’ve got a SECOND UNMARRIABLE GROWN ASS ADULT TO PROVIDE FOR. And you KNOW she’s gonna be a tantrum-throwing little shit about it, and it’s not like you can lock her in the basement or something, you’re gonna have to bring her fucking. Everywhere. And give her an allowance and shit while she contributes zero, because again, she NEVER GOT EDUCATED AND HAS NO MARKETABLE SKILLS. She’s not even good to TALK to. FUCK

And you’re looking at this girl’s father like “please for the love of fuck get your spawn under control, marry them off, get them working on their résumé, learning to sew or be nursemaids or manage staff or SOMETHING, yall got no money and one foot in the grave” and that old man just laughs like “haha yeah, what can you do. lol”

So you’re looking to the mom and finally it’s making sense how she got that twitch in her eye and as MUCH as she is you’re starting to realize she’s the SMART one, desperately throwing her armloads of girls at random men like they’re a bunch of fucking lifeboats bobbing around a sinking ship, like yes Jesus Christ sweetly that life boat IS old and ugly and kind of boring but for FUCKS SAKE PICK ONE

And you look back at this girl who is ALSO REFUSING THE LIFE BOATS BY THE WAY and god damn it she’s still the most radiant thing you’ve ever seen so fine, fuck it, Christ alive, you’ll do it. You’ll shoot your shot. She’s everything you’ve ever wanted in anybody abut it’s not even just about that anymore, it’s about being her best fucking shot at a future, and even if she doesn’t like you all that much she’s still gonna say yes and that might break your heart a bit knowing it’s about the money but who knows, maybe it will at least be civil, or companionable, and even if she doesn’t LOVE you at least you’ll know she’s well and cared for

And so you’ll do it. You’ll take on the neurotic stress mess mother in law, the absent father, the broke ass wingnut no brain no money no future airhead sisters, the bad mannered relatives and the embarrassing behaviour and the impending future of sharing your entire shit with a clown parade of freeloaders, you’ll risk it all and accept the absolute certainty of financial ruin and emotional exhaustion for the rest of your whole ass life and you’ll make your own family deal with it too, you’ll do it, you’ll fucking DO IT, you stupid lovesick motherfucker

And so you go to this chick like “look. Your whole family’s a shitshow. You’ve got fucking nothing and you’re gonna die on the street. But for some reason- and I don’t get it either- I’ve fallen in love with you, and I wish I didn’t, but I did, so I’m telling you that whether you like me or not, I’ll give you everything. I’ll give you everything even if it’s the dumbest shit I ever done. Fuck my stupid Baka ass, I’ll marry you.”

And she looks at you- having heard or considered absolutely none of your months-long internal debate and monologue- and goes “The fuck did you just say about my family, you son of a bitch?”

And the shock of that is enough to jolt you back into a reality where you are able to actually hear and process what just came out of your damn mouth And yeah

Yeah, I think I kinda get it

[ralphanagi-no-okami]

[ralphanagi-no-okami]

What went down at the Mystery Twins’ 25th birthday party 🌈💖✨

[ralphanagi-no-okami]

just remembered the bad ending in heavy rain where, if you failed to save his stupid gay son, the dad would be standing by the old grave of his first son and the fresh grave of his second son, and the pixie cut brunette would be like "aw well life goes on, let's just have a new baby boy :) i'll wait in the car" and he's like ok and shoots himself in the head. masterpiece